


Four Letters

by TheStargazer



Series: Tales of Middle Earth [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStargazer/pseuds/TheStargazer
Summary: Takes place directly afterHealing
the Shieldmaiden. It details the four letters that Faramir and Éowyn sent to their friends and family who were still celebrating at the Cormallen.Each chapter takes place at the reading of one of the letters, and is written in intimate 3rd person.Tolkien's works do not belong to me.





	1. Faramir to Éomer

Éomer stared down at the parchment he held and wondered if his hand had been trembling since he first read its words.

> To Éomer, son of Éomund, High King of Rohan:
> 
> I, Faramir, son of Denethor of the House of Húrin and Steward of Gondor, hereby ask your permission to wed your sister, the Lady Éowyn, Shieldmaiden and Princess of Rohan. None in my life have captured my heart so much as your sister, and I live to cherish and honor her. I hope to bring her as much joy as she has brought me as we celebrate the fall of the Shadow and the new Dawn.
> 
> Yours in Honor and Admiration,  
>  Faramir, Steward of Gondor

The letter had been rolled tightly, and carried the wax “S” of the Steward of Gondor. There was no doubt of its authenticity. The Steward of Gondor had just formally asked him for his sister’s hand in marriage.

Éomer scowled at its formality, scowled at this man who claimed to love his sister. How long had they known each other? A fortnight? No, this was far too short a time to have made such a rash decision. He would not allow it. Not his little sister. No. He couldn’t. Not her.

Yet, to know Éowyn was to love her. Éomer thought back to his confusion and gloom upon receiving Éowyn’s letter from Merry, that she would not be joining him at Cormallen. Healed? Whole? How had that come to be? Their parting had haunted him deeply as he rode forth with the host. He could tell it was taking the bulk of her strength just simply to endure. He could not stop thinking about the look in her eyes that told him that she endured solely for him. Then she sent that letter saying she’d remain in Minas Tirith and become a healer, when he had begged her to be with him in their glee and celebration? He couldn’t help but smile at the challenge she had laid for him to deny her her healing wish, “talk to me in person” indeed. He would never deny her things that brought her happiness. But the contents of her letter ate at him. He knew he was missing something, some part of his sister’s miracle.

Éomer had interrogated Merry upon receipt of Éowyn’s letter, and found the effort infuriating. Merry would not break the confidences of his shieldmaiden, and seemed to become more pleased the further he aggravated Éomer. Was Éomer not the King? Could he not command Merry, a squire of the Riddermark, to betray all he knew? Éomer could, yet Éomer would not do that. Merry kept repeating that he was sure Éowyn would tell him all when she was ready to, to have faith. Merry’s smile had been insufferable.

Now, here it was. Steward. Steward of Gondor. Had stolen away his baby sister’s heart. But, perhaps not. Faramir had said little of Éowyn’s mind in his letter. Maybe Éowyn had given her hand tentatively, to further strengthen the realm and her people. Maybe Éowyn had only consented because her first love had been rejected by Aragorn (of course he knew of her unrequited love for the high Lord, he was her brother). He would protect her from the sorrow of being bound and caged for the sake of a beneficial political arrangement and say no, for her, of course.

Sure, the tone of the letter in his hand was what such a formal request demanded, but could this Steward not have let just a small assurance that Éowyn wanted this slip in? No, the letter the Steward had written was perfect. It was a letter written by a man who understood the political ramifications of asking for such a match (and likely knew that they were good). Éomer resented Faramir his sophistication. An alliance between Gondor and Rohan at that level? As King of Rohan he should be overjoyed, but as big brother to his precious sister, he was fretful.

Éomer looked at the small stack of papers still awaiting his attention, and saw one rolled up and bound with a small sprig of lavender and his name printed in the gentle sloping hand of his sister. He reddened. No, he could not look at that yet. If it said what he thought it would say, he knew he would give into Éowyn’s will. No, right now he got to pretend that Éowyn had decided to sacrifice herself by marrying the Steward, and he was the good and protective older brother who was saving his sister from being trapped in her tower. Again. He would never fail to protect her again.

Éomer re-rolled the Steward’s letter and placed it in his satchel. After a brief hesitation, he gingerly picked up the letter from Éowyn and placed it in the satchel next to the Steward’s, unopened. He would look at the letter, in his own time. Éomer then stood and began his harried search for his squire Merry. Perhaps now the Hobbit would see fit to better answer the questions of his King.


	2. Faramir to Imrahil

The prince was used to smiling, for his life had been a happy one. But the smile that effused him on this day also came with tears. He looked at the letter in his hand, the carefully stamped wax “S”.

> Dearest Uncle,
> 
> I do not think I can convey the joy that has swelled in my chest in this letter. The nature of my father’s departure from Middle Earth carried such sadness and grief that I believed I would never be whole again. And then I met Éowyn, sister to King Éomer and the slayer of the Witch-King. Her sorrow so nearly matched mine that it took my breath away, and yet in our time together we lifted each other with such great love that I find myself full of greater joy than I’ve felt my entire life. I’ve met my kindred and I believe that she has met her’s. I am the luckiest man in Middle Earth as this wondrous shieldmaiden has consented to becoming my wife. We await official permission from her brother, but Éowyn has assured me that Éomer will not refuse (I daresay he would be too afraid of her wrath to deny her). Even so, I keep her company with honor and deference, despite wanting to be with her every moment of my waking. I am so happy that you are safe and whole, for it is to you that I owe my life, and also my chance to meet Éowyn, whose life I hear was also saved by you. Thank you Uncle, beyond words of Arda, thank you.
> 
> I am doing everything in my power to have us prepared for the return of the King. Send all of the Hobbits my love (I have written to Merry Brandybuck of this news). I await your return so that we can have a proper reunion.
> 
> Love,  
> Faramir

Imrahil had read the words of this letter many times, absorbing every phrase. By the fifth read, he had finally stopped the tears coming to his eyes. Faramir, his beloved nephew, had found love and healing. Something Imrahil had believed was beyond hope, given how Faramir’s father Denethor had departed his life. How had the boy managed to discover the circumstances of Denethor’s death so quickly?

Imrahil shook his head. Faramir was no longer a boy, but instead a remarkable man. Faramir knew of his father’s vile demise and attempt upon his own life because there were others in his presence who knew, and Faramir had a special gift for drawing information from others far beyond the subject of the conversation. That none would have to tell Faramir for the first time the whole of his father’s death was a bit of a relief.

His tragic nephew, neglected by his father, had found love. Imrahil remembered seeing the ethereal beauty of Éowyn, and the faintest flutter of her chest, belying the light of her life still burning as they carried her from the battlefield thinking her dead. She who laughed at Fear, and smote him upon the earth, and nearly paid the price of her life for her bravery. If Imrahil had known that his notice of her would in turn deliver his nephew from despair, he would have carried her into the House of Healing himself and demanded she be given anything she could ever want. But it appeared she did not need that.

Stories of Éowyn had flowed freely from the mouth of her proud and loving brother. So impressed Imrahil was with these children of Éomund that he had started to speak to Éomer about his daughter Lothíriel, his own precious jewel. A friendship formed fast with the loving and open-hearted King of Rohan on that last march of men, marveling at the will of the King of Gondor and awaiting their deliverance from evil by two brave little Hobbits.

After victory, when Meriadoc Brandybuck had arrived at the Cormallen, he brought tidings of Éowyn, now called Éowyn Wraithbane, Shieldmaiden and White Lady of Rohan, and his stories of her valour on the Pelennor were so vibrant that Imrahil could nearly see the wondrous maiden’s bravery. He had noticed Éomer’s eyes full of tears, at the tales told by the honorable Hobbit. To hear that his nephew had fallen so hard for the shieldmaiden was fitting. He himself found himself loving her based on the stories that others told of her, as he had grown to love her brother Éomer.

_ Rohan and Gondor will forever be bound with ties of friendship and marriage _ , Imrahil smiled even more deeply,  _ and love. _

The Steward of Gondor would wed the Princess of Rohan. A match that one might imagine was no more than a convenient political marriage, instead was a marriage of deep and abiding love. Imrahil laughed at this, the Valar finally saw fit to reward Faramir for his goodness, and Éowyn too he reckoned. Imrahil wanted very much to meet Éowyn now for himself. If she were anything like what her brother said of her, or the type of person her brother  _ was _ , she would be a truly astonishing human. Imrahil then thought of his own marriage, political, but loving, and the many happy years that he and his wife had made together, through the birth of four wonderful children. Imrahil wished for his nephew to find a life and love akin to his own, and was overjoyed that his sweet and thoughtful nephew had found such a match.

After Finduilas had died, Imrahil had talked his brother-in-law into sending Boromir and Faramir to Dol Amroth. He remembered those visits, Boromir masking his pain behind bravado, spending hours learning combat from the Captain of Imrahil’s guard and sparring endlessly. But Imrahil also remembered the haunted look in Boromir’s eyes, and the fierce protectiveness he bestowed upon his younger brother. Aged just 11 years, and Boromir had become more father to his younger brother than Denethor had ever been, or would ever be.

Faramir, still so young, had withdrawn completely for nearly a week, uttering not a word to any save for Boromir. Imrahil had spent many hours with him, telling stories of his sister as a child, trying to will the joy of his memories into his grief-stricken nephew. Imrahil still distinctly remembered the night when he had tucked Faramir into bed, and he asked quietly for one more story about his mother. A child who had come to terms with losing his mother and faced it with open eyes. No six-year old should have had that much understanding of sorrow. It was a sadness and maturity that Imrahil had grown accustomed to hearing in his nephew’s voice. Faramir’s sorrow haunted Imrahil. And he placed much of the blame for it at his brother-in-law’s feet.

Imrahil knew that Denethor had resented his younger son, despite his prowess on the battlefield, because that was not what Faramir valued. Faramir valued books and lore, and found war to be a task that must be done to protect those you loved, rather than the lust for combat and valor. Faramir fought out of compassion for others. This particular quality of Faramir’s was the one that Imrahil admired most, and he suspected was also what had drawn Mithrandir to him. When he discovered that Faramir had let Frodo and Sam go on their way unmolested, it had not surprised Imrahil at all. Faramir’s wisdom that day had saved Middle Earth, and pride swelled in Imrahil’s heart that he could call such a man his kin.

Imrahil remembered watching Faramir fall from his horse during that ill-fated retreat, full of the poisons from the Southron dart and poisonous breath, but also the composure of one who would sacrifice himself before he let another of his men die. All reason had fled Imrahil in his charge to rescue his nephew. Had it not been for Mithrandir’s drawing away the Nazgûl, Imrahil would have perished. But he knew he would have made that decision every time, foolhardy as it was, for Faramir. How fitting it was that the very person who had dispatched that foul Wraith was the one to win his heart and cure his despair. Yes, Imrahil would need to meet this shieldmaiden and give her the thanks and love that she had brought by healing his nephew’s despair.

Imrahil put the letter into the pocket of his jerkin, and stood and left his tent, heading toward a neighboring tent with the green and gold banners of Rohan. It was time to go see how the young King of Rohan was handling this momentous news. Imrahil knocked lightly, and found Éomer inside, with tears in his eyes and a small letter open in his hands.

_ So Éomer has read Faramir’s letter,  _ Imrahil thought with a smile,  _ I do not think he appreciates the quality of man who is offering to be his brother-in-law _ .

They would find drinks and celebrate this joyous news, and he would work to convince the young King and anxious big brother of the type of man he had the chance to welcome into his family.


	3. Faramir & Éowyn to Merry

“What is it?”  
“What is what?..”  
“Merry, you got a letter from someone and your face has been screwed up in a raving smile since reading it!”  
“The greatest news Pip.”

Pippin shoved Merry, distracting him just enough to grab the small roll of paper with the broken wax “S” seal.

“That’s not your’s!” Merry fumbled for the letter now in Pippin’s possession, but gave in quickly. He desperately wanted to share what the letter said with someone, but thought it would not be proper to do so until he was certain that King Éomer had opened his own letter from the Steward. Clearly Pippin had forced his hand! Pippin read the letter.

 

> Dear Merry,
> 
> You in your infinite wisdom were right. I almost let her get away due to my own foolishness. Éowyn loves me with the same fervor and depth that I love her, and I am the luckiest man in Middle Earth that she has now consented to be my wife. I daresay Éomer will be asking you many questions about me, and us, and I give you the freedom to answer any question he places to you.
> 
> _ Same with me - this is Éowyn. Answer all the questions my brother has for you. It would not surprise me if he is avoiding reading my letter for now, so be prepared to be interrogated. Big brothers never change... _
> 
> Thank you for your warmth and company in the House of Healing. I’ve already put in another order for chocolate to celebrate your return to Minas Tirith ~~ , and Éowyn has sent word to Rohan to have Knight’s armaments created in your size -  _ Faramir! That was supposed to be a surprise! _ Sorry. ~~ We both miss you deeply, and would love to have a private audience with you and your kin (should they be interested) when you return.
> 
> Pippin saved my life, send him my love and thank him for me.  _ Same to Sam and Frodo, who saved us all _ . Éowyn and I would love to show them both the garden in the House of Healing.
> 
> If any of you have any need or want, put it to us and we will get it for you. You are all friends and heroes of Gondor  _ and Rohan! _ But more importantly, you are friend to Éowyn and Faramir. I can’t wait to see you all.
> 
> _ We love you Merry! Come back to us with haste! _
> 
> Love,  
> Faramir _and Éowyn_

Pippin’s face flushed and matched Merry’s. Faramir had found love? Pippin could feel the tears coming into his eyes, and saw that Merry shared them. They embraced and laughed raucously together. Pippin’s beloved captain and Merry’s beloved shieldmaiden had found each other, and despite all of their despair, had fallen in love.

In the first days of Merry’s arrival at the Cormallen, the two Hobbits had spoken of their adventures. Frodo and Sam were both quite ill, and mostly slept while being attended gently by the battle healers and Strider. Pippin had been glum when Merry had arrived, haunted by witnessing Denethor’s ignominious demise. But as soon as the conversation turned to the House of Healing, and in particular, Merry’s time with Faramir and Éowyn, light began to return to Pippin’s eyes. Faramir, beloved captain of Gondor whose father meant to burn him alive, had found love worthy of song.

Éomer’s interrogations of Merry had further piqued Pippin’s interest, for he wondered why the brave shieldmaiden, whom he had thought loved Strider would had not come to her brother (and Strider). Merry’s answers to Pippin’s questions at first had been evasive, but finally he gave in, making Pippin promise to keep the secret of the burgeoning love between Éowyn and the Steward, and of Éowyn’s broken heart upon realizing that Aragorn refused to see her as a person. Merry also fretted that Éowyn and Faramir had not yet told one another of their love, something Merry considered a tragedy.

As Frodo and Sam slept, Merry and Pippin conspired to bring Faramir and Éowyn together. Their plan was to trap them in a room that locked from the outside until they had declared their love for one another. No humans deserved unbridled joy in this new age as much those two. So with the letter in Merry’s hand, both Hobbits danced for joy and celebration. A new King in Gondor! A wedding! And a promise of chocolate.

Merry and Pippin had kept a watchful eye on the young King of Rohan for the rest of that afternoon, and were relieved when Éomer finally got around to opening his own letters. They knew the moment Éomer had read the letter from Faramir, as his face became drawn and he scowled. Then, instead of opening the other letter that he was clearly fingering, Éomer put them both in his satchel, and stood resolutely. Merry knew then that he was going to be in for an interrogation.

Both Hobbits scurried back to their encampment, frantically packing tobacco into their pipes and tried to look as if they had been innocently sitting on the log outside of their for hours. The King of Rohan was upon them only moments after they’d settled, swooping in like a bad-tempered eagle.

“Well well well,” Éomer was pacing. Merry and Pippin attempted not to laugh. After all, they were being interrogated. “My own squire. Slayer of the Witch-King, and noble squire of the Riddermark. Kept  _ this _ from me.” Éomer tapped aggressively on the letter he had taken back out of his satchel. The broken wax “S” clearly visible.

“What are you referring to sir? I fear I have lived a long life and may have kept many things from you.” Merry looked around before he said this, knowing that such cheek to the King could not have an audience. Éomer looked around too, and both were relieved that their only audience was Pippin, who miraculously kept a straight face.

“How long did you know that the Steward of Gondor had set his sight upon my sister?” Éomer continued to pace.

“For no more than a fortnight sir, as before that time the three of us were all under the shadow,” Merry replied matter-of-factly. He suspected he was now pushing his luck, but something about Éomer’s mood told him that speaking plainly like a friend was what Éomer needed, rather than the polite deference of a King’s subject, “Have you not read words from your sister to know what is in her heart?”

Éomer blanched, and his eyes looked at his satchel. Merry pretended not to notice. Pippin stood up and approached Faramir, then took a knee in front of the King.

“Good King, I have had the honor of knowing the young Steward of Gondor. A more honorable man does not live in this world, a man whose actions likely saved Middle Earth. For it was Faramir who shepherded my kin to the cusp of Mordor, and kept their task completely secret, from allies and enemies alike.” Pippin’s voice was kind, but it was clear that Pippin would hear no sore words about Faramir, “You have my vow as a Hobbit and a squire of Gondor, Faramir is true and no man exists more deserving of the love of your sister.”

“No one?” Éomer’s voice was testy, and both Merry and Pippin knew to whom he was referring.  
“No one.” both answered together without prompt, decisively and loudly.

The Hobbits’ united reply threw Éomer, and he paused and looked at them. Finally he exhaled deeply and sat down upon the log next to Merry. Pippin returned, and sat on the other side of the King.

“She’s my baby sister. I failed her once when a man’s sights were set on her. I failed her every time her heart broke. Then I left and let her heart break for me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to protect her.” Éomer’s was rubbing his thumb into the bridge of his nose. Tears were trickling out from his eyes, and he seemed to be wishing away dark memories.

Merry looked at Éomer, and put his hand on his shoulder, “I watched Éowyn’s heart heal, and hope that I played my small part. She was ready for death even the first morning we had tea together in the House of Healing. And I watched Faramir heal her heart, and her heal his. By the time I was leaving to celebrate with you, Éowyn was whole again. For she had found both her joy and her purpose. It was a wonder to behold. I will feel no greater honor in this world than that your sister opened her heart to me. The largest part of her healing came from Faramir, who loved and respected her in every moment we three were together awaiting our doom.”

Merry then gestured to Pippin for the letter in his hand, and gave it to Éomer. “I don’t think they would mind if I let you read this”

Éomer took the letter, but held it as if it burned him. When he started to read, his resolve started breaking, and his hand began trembling, “so. She loves him.”

“And he loves her.” Merry put his hand on Éomer’s.

“And she knew I would not be able to read her letter,” tears had started to form in Éomer’s eyes, though there was a flicker of a smile there as well, “right away at least.”

Pippin sidled up to Éomer too, “I have not seen Faramir since we rescued him from the Citadel. His life and story have as much tragedy as the Lady Éowyn’s, but in this letter you can hear the light and joy of him.”

Éomer stared blankly forward, “I suppose there is nothing I can say except yes.”

Merry smiled, “read the letter your sister wrote you first. I do not know what it says, but if she wrote it to you, I daresay she wanted you to read it while considering Faramir’s suit.”

Éomer nodded, then sniffled. Merry threw his arms around the King’s neck and embraced him lovingly. Éomer was a good King, and all should hope to have a big brother such as this.

Gently relieving himself of Merry’s arms, Éomer stood, “it appears I need to finish reading my important correspondence. Thank you my brave Hobbits and squires.”

With that, Éomer bowed and took his leave. Merry and Pippin exchanged a look. Their interrogation was over. With a silent nod that had been perfected over the years of getting into trouble in Buckland, they then quietly snuffed their pipes, and returned to their favorite hiding place outside the King of Rohan’s tent.


	4. Éowyn to Éomer

Éomer was not sure if talking with the Hobbits had lightened his heart or made it heavier. It had confirmed that he would be losing his baby sister. True, he was losing her to joy and bliss, to a husband who was as close to worthy of her as a man could be. Éomer still puzzled at what had happened that had turned Éowyn away from Lord Aragorn, and what made the Hobbits so sure of the Steward’s worth. Éomer sighed, he knew where the answers would be. He pulled the small rolled scroll from his satchel, and unbraided the lavender, seeing their mother’s smiling face and smelling her hair as it surrendered its scent.

_ Ever thoughtful sister _ , he thought, wiping away a tear in his eye.

He took one more breath, willing himself to read. The letter was written in Rohirric.

> My dearest brother,
> 
> I’ve no doubt that you’ve already read Faramir’s letter. And you would save mine for last. You always saved the letters from those you love for last. Faramir asked you for my hand, and I fear he may not have made my own intentions clear (he is so worried about formality!), so I do so for you now. I want to marry this man with every fiber of my being.
> 
> I wrote to you last of my whole and healed heart, and my will to be a healer. But I did not tell you  _ who _ healed my heart or how, for at the time we had not yet openly declared our love for one another. It was just a feeling, a hope that burned in my gut when he was near me.
> 
> Faramir’s sorrow is kindred to mine. He knows all my secrets -  _ yes, even that one _ . And we talk as old friends who have lived one another’s lives. When I am away from him all I want to do is find him and be near him again, to hear him talk, to hear him laugh, to see him smile. I’ve no doubt that he feels the same way about me. I know that you have lived your life to protect me, and hold yourself too accountable for those moments you felt you could not do your duty. Your love protected me from the shadows, and Faramir’s is lifting me into the light. I do the same for him. I will never be caged in this match, for to Faramir, I am his equal and his partner.  _ No man _ has ever treated me as an equal (even you my dear brother). And before you ask, his skill as a warrior has no match in the Mark. I will be protected by his sword and his bow (as well as by my own).
> 
> Give him your permission. I beg thee.
> 
> With deepest love,   
>  Éowyn

Éomer could feel the tears in his eyes had started to escape. Whatever he was expecting her letter to say, she had said more. Every word that Merry, Pippin, and Imrahil had spoken of the Steward reverberated in his mind, yet, it was not until he had read it in Éowyn’s own hand did he truly trust it. Éowyn had found her match. Éomer would never deny his sister what she had found.

His sister, who had stayed steadfast with their uncle in his infirmity, holding her head high even as that despicable  _ thing _ had tried to break her. His sister, who would hide her sorrow from him when he found time to return to Edoras between campaigns, to ensure that he would not be carrying it in his heart. His sister, who had held her sorrow in from the day that their father died, collecting those horrible memories and locking them all away. His sister, who had ridden out on a suicide mission for fear of being left behind caged in her woman’s body. His sister, who loved their uncle so much that she braved the deputy of Sauron himself to protect him. She was not a baby anymore, but a shieldmaiden who had earned herself renown on the battlefield beyond that of most warriors. Éowyn Wraithbane, who’d laughed in the face of Fear itself.

Éomer smiled, because he understood that Faramir had earned his sister’s love the only way that could capture her heart completely. Faramir saw Éowyn as the fully-complicated and extraordinary person she was. Not the beauty, not the maiden trapped in a tower in need of rescue. Éomer thought he may even grow to like this man. Perhaps he would have to spar with this Faramir, just to make sure the Steward truly could protect his precious sister.

A knock came upon the post of Éomer’s tent, breaking his reverie. It was Imrahil.

“May I?” Imrahil’s smile reached his entire person.

Éomer beckoned him in, wiping the tears away from his cheeks.

“I understand that you have gotten a letter from my nephew.” Imrahil’s smile grew bigger.

“And my sister.” Éomer tried to keep his voice neutral, but he knew that there was some sadness in it.

“It can sometimes be hard to lose the one that we love the most,” Imrahil was to Éomer, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder, “But you are gaining a truly extraordinary person as kin. No man on Middle Earth is worthier of the love of your sister.”

Éomer clasped Imrahil’s hand.

“Were this match between my sister and some nameless citadel guard, still I would oblige,” Éomer stared straight ahead, “Her letter made clear what Faramir is to her.”

“But it is not a match between the Princess of Rohan and some no-name,” Imrahil replied, “It is a match between the Princess of Rohan, Wraithbane and Shieldmaiden who slay one of Gondor’s greatest enemies, and the Steward of Gondor, second in nobility only to the King, and more beloved amongst the citizens even than him.”

“Yet it is still a match between my sister and your nephew. Do you think they will forever make each other happy?” Éomer was wrapping on the table. He never could keep his anxious hands still.

“I do.” Imrahil was serene, yet his voice nearly sang.

“I do too.” Éomer let out a sigh, and he did believe that Éowyn had found one who would make her happy for the rest of her life, “I give my consent to this match.”

Imrahil beamed, “then we must celebrate! Here’s hoping that there will now be two strong ties between our families, son of Éomund. Write in haste to your sister and your soon-to-be brother-in-law. I daresay we’ve all waited long enough to find our joy.”

Imrahil hugged the young King of Rohan, and Éomer smiled. For he would become a part of this family, and hoped that Faramir was half the man the Hobbits, Imrahil, and most importantly, Éowyn had made him to be.

Suddenly, Merry and Pippin burst in, “we have come to celebrate this good news!” yes, they had been spying. Éomer invited them in joyously. They would drink tonight and celebrate the love between Rohan and Gondor, between a thoughtful nephew and a beloved sister. But mostly, that two so worthy of love had found each other and been lifted from their lifetimes of despair.


End file.
